


Of Rest Stops and Mornings

by dapatty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-15
Updated: 2009-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's music is weird and Dean has a better plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Rest Stops and Mornings

In the car on the way to the coast for the next job, he lets Sam drive and finds himself subjected to his brother’s music. He knew it would happen especially with all this ipod business that his baby was violated with; he just didn’t count on being annoyed so quickly.

“Are you honestly gonna make me suffer through this emo, self-indulgent college frou-frou rock?” after he can’t stand it any longer—and it’s only been thirty-seven minutes.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Sam states, a little bit of his bitchface shining through. “Besides I seem to recall this rule being ‘Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole.’ And this isn’t emo, self-indulgent college frou-frou rock.”

“No. It’s more like filk and maybe not as self-indulgent as it could be. Besides, you’re forgetting car owner trumps shotgun rule.” Dean states, confidant that it’s a universal law somewhere.

“Does not. Since when? And you know what filk is?” Sam bites back a laugh. Sam barely knows what filk is.

“Since now.” Dean states not clarifying which.

“Are you five, suddenly?” Sam knows this is a redundant question when Dean’s taste in music, or his, is involved. Actually, it’s a pretty redundant question to ask Dean in general.

“Dude, I’ll blow you if we don’t have to listen to any more of this shit,” Dean states perfectly serious and pouting his lips a little.

Sam shuts off the radio and smirks. “So blow me.”

Dean always sucks cock like he should be given a gold metal and the mere thought makes Sam’s blood start to head South.

“And risk hurting my car?” Dean asks with his patented eyebrow lift. “I can’t have you driving so distracted when my baby’s at stake.”

“Fine,” Sam reaches for the radio again.

Dean grabs his hand. “Next rest stop,” he clarifies.

Sam leans over and steals a kiss. “Deal.”

Luck is with them seventy-three miles later and the rest stop is entirely deserted.

Barely through the bathroom entrance, Sam grabs Dean by the collar pulling him into a kiss. Tongue parting his brother’s lips as his explores all the lines he knows by heart and savors the taste.

Dean must still have enough blood to be thinking with his upstairs brain as he steers them into the handicap stall for the illusion of privacy. He swings the door closed with his foot. He breaks the kiss and smiles wickedly—those green eyes gleam with promise. He doesn’t look away as he undoes Sam’s belt, zipper and fly, and frees Sam’s cock from the confines of his boxers, pre-come dampening his hand.

Stealing a last quick kiss, he’s down on his knees with tongue circling the tip of Sam’s cock.

“Tease,” Sam moans pressing his back against the stall and holding the hand rail to steady himself.

Dean chooses this moment to take the head into his mouth. He sucks like he’s going to win an award, fast and dirty, humming—what might be Master of Puppets for all Sam knows. He can’t think with Dean doing that thing with his tongue.

Sam throws his head back and his hips sway trying to meet Dean’s eager mouth. It’s been too long since they’ve done this. He tries to control the noises he makes but his brain-to-moan filter doesn’t seem to be working—never mind the volume, the acoustics of the bathroom would betray him regardless.

And they do as he comes screaming his brother’s name. Dean stands up with a cocky grin as he puts Sam back into his pants.

They stumble back out of the bathroom, Sam leaning heavily on Dean, still feeling limbless.

An elderly woman scowls at them as they exit the bathroom. Dean winks at her. Guess the rest stop wasn’t entirely deserted.

That night, they barely make it through the door of the motel room after the bar. Sam kept groping his brother under the table.

Rough cheek on smooth as lips; just drunk enough to be a little sloppy, search to meet lips. They breathe each other in. Lips parting and they trade saliva with warring tongues.

Hands, both pairs, search under the three layers of shirt. Sam’s hands lingering on Dean’s stomach and then playing the trail of hair that goes down past the top of his pants. Dean’s hands going higher instead, expertly tweaking one of Sam’s nipples while the other tries to pull Sam closer—too many layers. That will never do.

And still kissing as the chore of undressing becomes an issue, but it’s something they’ve dealt with before, expertly. So much that it’s like a dance, both partners trading moves echoing each other. Sam’s hoodie Dean deftly removes and Sam slides Dean out of his jacket. The over shirts are next and the t-shirts follows.

Naked chests at last!

Here a groan from Dean as Sam sucks at that sensitive spot—the hollow where neck and ear meet.

There a moan from Sam as Dean sucks on his nipple.

Then the feeling of overdress happens again. Off with the pants and boxers and shoes—tripping over them.

Sam maneuvers Dean’s back against the wall. Bodies reverse as they do the usual jockey for position while stumbling to the bed.

So warm—no hot. Both of them are slick with sweat and they haven’t even got to fun stuff yet. Dean’s short hair teases against Sam’s thigh as his kisses his way down to then lick the underside of Sam’s cock and back out. Sam yelps in surprise and Dean finds himself smiling despite then pauses.

This is wrong? Dean has always wondered, but he’s just not sure anymore. He can’t be sure with the way that Sam is looking at him—hazel eyes hooded with desire, corners of his mouth turned with a smile as he reaches for the lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer.

They shouldn’t be doing this. But sometimes the most wrong thing can feel like the most right.

Back to work. He reaches for the condom, but Sam stops him. His heart nearly stops suddenly afraid that this isn’t like old times at all. That Sammy was placating a dying man and was about to tell him that everything is simply too much to give now.

“No,” Sam says coyly, “let me.”

Dean holds his breath as Sam tears the rubber from the package and slides it onto Dean’s hard cock with his teeth like a good whore.

“Dude that was fucking hot,” Dean states restarting his heart and breathing again a renewed vigor alive in his bones.

Sam just smirks, pleased, as Dean lubes himself up and crawl on top of his brother. They adjust position to get a good angle as Dean slides in.

“Fuck” Sam breathes and shifts a little, forcing himself to relax.

“So fuckin’ tight, Sammy,” Dean swears, adjusting his angle as he slowly slides out and back in to make room—a little more lube making for less resistance.

Sam moans as Dean pushes further and further in and brushes against the bundle of nerves of the prostate. Dean starts a rhythm, building speed with each stroke. Sammy moaning louder and louder with each thrust and Dean’s answering grunt.

“Fuck. Yes. There!” Sam groans and comes against Dean’s stomach as his brother’s thrust quicken. Dean’s climax comes soon after and he collapses beside him.

He has enough presence of mind to dispose of the used condom and use Sam’s discarded towel to wipe off his stomach as Sam pulls back the covers on the bed.

They crawl in, limbs entangling, encouraging sleep to take them.

And he’s not cuddling, right now. No. Dean Winchester does not cuddle. No matter how perfectly he fits back to Sammy’s chest and an arm around him. Safe and home.

A moment of weakness, he’s sure. As soon as he wakes up for the day he’ll come to his senses… maybe.

Three days later, it’s early. The ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see in the early morning light. The job is done and it just seemed right to drive the extra ten miles to watch the sunrise.

Shoulder to shoulder on the hood of the car, against the windshield arms touching, stealing warmth from each other. It’s so peaceful. He feels like flying, or floating, or drifting off to sleep in the morning rays like a cat on a railing.

Don’t think. Just be. It’s just one of the million things he should have already taken time to do. He knows there’s more as he rests his head against his brother’s shoulder while Sam traces circles with his fingers against Dean’s palm.

“So” Sam says quietly nearly reading his mind, “how about the Grand Canyon?”

Dean finds himself smiling and thinks maybe they’ll be okay end of the world notwithstanding.


End file.
